Confessions
by Steelsheen
Summary: SamXFrodo slash, one-chapter, a very late Valentine's Day fic. As Sam and Frodo lie at death's door on Mount Doom, they realize they can finally say aloud some things they've been wanting to admit for a long time...


This was a little Valentine's Day project, for my friends mostly, but I decided it was borderline good enough to post. My first slash fic, so I'm rather fond of it.  
  
Oh, and when they don't die at the end, I suppose they get to thinking it was all a hunger-induced hallucination. :P  
  
Disclaimer: Didn't mean to steal your characters, really, Mr. Tolkien (but don't you agree they're slashy as hell?) *cue Tolkien rolling in his grave*  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Frodo laid his bleeding hand on the rock. Let it bleed. He didn't care.  
  
It was gone. The weight, the torture, the burden was gone, and he could see it all again. Trees, flowers, streams in the morning and the afternoon sun, clouds and stars, and grasses of the meadows of the Shire in the breeze. And he could recall the taste of mead at the Prancing Pony in the evening, and it was all come back to him. So let it bleed.  
  
And Sam was beside him, as always. Frodo could remember everything now, but not ever a time when Sam had not been beside him. Always encouraging, giving Frodo a sturdy shoulder to lean on, looking with his soft brown eyes into Frodo's own blue...  
  
The gardener was bandaging Frodo's hand now, with a piece torn from his own shirt. That was Sam, thought Frodo, he would tear out his own heart if he had to to save his master. That was Sam. Frodo let his head rest on the rock and closed his eyes. He was weary, and Sam's hands were warm and rough and soothing, and a heat spread along Frodo's arm that was far more pleasant than that which rose from the lava flowing around the rock, licking at the sides, taunting the weary travelers with death.  
  
Suppose it's over, Sam's voice was soft, sad, perhaps, but relief was there as well.  
  
It may be, Sam, Frodo sighed, and was surprised by how hoarse his voice was. It may well be over. But at least we had some peace before the end. It's gone, Sam, it really is. He smiled weakly, and paused for a moment before continuing. Thank you, Sam.  
  
Sam finished wrapping Frodo's hand, but still his hand rested, but still his hand rested on his master's, and now it moved just a bit - a caress, or a product of weary nerves? For what? I did what I ought, Mr. Frodo, and nothing more. Prob'ly I was meant to die this way.  
  
said Frodo quietly, thank you. Just for... for being you, really. Their hands were still intertwined, and Frodo no longer felt the pain of his missing finger. And I'm sorry.  
  
You don't have to be. In fact, Mr. Frodo, Sam announced as their eyes met, I'd rather die here than anywhere else. It's fate, you know.  
  
Frodo sighed, I suppose it is. Suddenly, he felt a bitter stab of that feeling - the feeling he often got around Sam, a mixture of regret and jealousy and perhaps longing ... but no. What about... what about Rosie Cotton? I - I've taken you from her, he said and tore his eyes from his friend's. Rosie. He had never liked her much. Sam had.  
  
Frodo felt his best friend's other hand join the hand that already held his, and squeeze. He lifted his eyes to meet Sam's. Mr. Frodo, said Sam, dead serious. I've been meanin' to tell you somethin' for - well, I mean, er - Sam had dropped the serious face and was now blushing, and he had that awkward look of his.  
  
Spit it out, Sam, said Frodo gently, slightly amused.  
  
Well, y'know when I said if I had to marry someone, it'd be Rosie? Sam hurried the words from his mouth.  
  
Frodo nodded. He remembered very well. Too well. Vividly.  
  
Well, I - I lied, y'know, Sam mumbled, but slowly his voice grew stronger. But now we're going to die and all, I suppose it don't matter, so I'm going to tell the truth. If I had to marry someone, Mr. Frodo - Sam took a deep breath - it'd be you. And with that, Sam slumped against the rock and looked down.  
  
When the Ring had gone, Frodo had thought he could never have felt a better emotion. But that came nowhere close to this. It had been hopeless, it had been impossible, and Frodo had let go of any sliver of hope he had that Sam could love him. Now it all came rushing back, and through all his weariness, he could have danced.  
  
he murmured and reached out his good hand to lift his friend's chin, to make him meet his eyes.  
  
And just then, as their eyes, brown and blue, locked, there was a huge booming sound from the mountain, and lava exploded out of a fresh-made hole in the mountainside to join the already-heavy flow.  
  
And the realization hit the two hobbits at once - they were really going to die. This was it.  
  
Frodo lingered in the depths of Sam's eyes. Bittersweet, sorrowful - they were going to die. It would end now - why? It had only just begun.  
  
But suddenly, another realization struck him - it didn't matter what they did now. They could do what they wanted; they were weary and half-starved and they would die anyway. And Frodo knew exactly what he wanted to do before he died.  
  
I love you, Samwise Gamgee, he said, and slowly he moved forward to lay his lips upon Sam's.  
  
And Sam kissed back, and for just a moment they forgot how parched their mouths were.   
  
And reluctantly they pulled away, and Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo's frail shoulders, and Frodo leaned on his chest. And together they awaited death.  
  
I'm glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee, here at the end of all things.


End file.
